


to be more and more

by homsantoft (tofsla)



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Unresolved Romantic Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-12
Updated: 2016-06-12
Packaged: 2018-07-14 17:11:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7181903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tofsla/pseuds/homsantoft
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dorian Pavus says a lot of things and means at least two of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	to be more and more

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Iambic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iambic/gifts).



> James prompted: "Fancy meeting you here."

The Bull wakes to darkness, to silence—an abrupt silence, one the part of his mind that works in secrets has understood to be footsteps coming to a halt before his door, breath being held. The rest of his mind takes a moment longer, still in a tent under the thick jungle canopy of Seheron, certain it knows what the sudden silence of the birds outside means.

There are almost no birds except the ravens here, and they're a good way away, shuffling sleepily on their perches on the far side of the keep.

The heat is from the fire, banked carefully to hold itself alive through the night.

And the silence is Dorian.

He's often silent—oh, not in general, fuck no. But like this. Before. Like he has to persuade himself. Makes the Bull a bit nervous, if he's honest, though he's maybe nine tenths certain that it's about history, personal and cultural. That it's maybe about not knowing whether he's welcome, at the outside. But that it's not about this actual thing that they keep doing. 

He knows Dorian's into fucking him. Doesn't want to think that Dorian's ashamed of that. 

This.

Whatever it is.

If he is, though, that's alright too. Maybe all he needs is to learn that people care. Maybe that'll make it better later, when he finds someone.

A little sting to that last thought.

He puts it aside.

The latch clicks gently open, almost silent, but the hinges groan.

The door scrapes against the stone floor.

 

 

Dorian is light on his feet as a rule but walks heavily now, now that he's inside. Sits down on the edge of the bed as the Bull rolls over.

"Goodness," Dorian says, reaching for the Bull. A hand under the blankets, cool against the Bull's ribs. "Are _you_ here? Fancy that."

The quick flare of a lantern being lit. The Bull keeps his eye closed until it's evened out, then looks up. 

Dorian, gorgeous and secretive, shadow and flame, smiles down at him.

"Like I live here or some shit," the Bull says.

"No, no, you can't fool me that easily," Dorian says. "I know very well you live in the tavern, propping up casks. Ask anyone at all."

"Hmm," the Bull says. Stretches up one hand, careful to give Dorian time, to let him see it coming. Settles his palm heavily against the back of Dorian's neck. Fingers scratching at Dorian's scalp, his soft short hair. "Who did you think lived here, huh? Looking for some pretty dignitary? That Nevarran with the good beard?"

"What makes you think I was looking for anyone at all?" Dorian says. Drags his hand down the Bull's chest, taking the blankets along with it. Strokes the backs of his fingers across the Bull's stomach. "Perhaps I was merely looking to make my own entertainment. Or, and I appreciate this is a novel idea, to sleep."

"I was sleeping," the Bull says. Smiles up at Dorian to make it soft, because although this game should theoretically be kind of annoying, he's mostly just endeared. "I know about sleeping."

"Not according to the barmaids," Dorian says, but he's smiling too.

"You could still entertain yourself," the Bull says. "It's only fair. You want to watch me bathing, maybe I want to watch you—"

"You are a hopeless, filthy-minded man," Dorian says. Nails against the Bull's stomach, below the navel, soft sensitive skin. He's looking at the Bull's dick, still half-covered by the blanket, maybe half way to hardness. Yeah, Dorian loves his own voice. Could be that the Bull loves it too. "What would you do if I agreed? You would have to keep your hands off me, to begin with."

The Bull shivers. Grins up at him. "Oh," he says, "I can do that. You want to try?"

"Maker, no," Dorian says. He lifts his hand, lets it hover over the blanket like he's trying to decide what to do, like he doesn't already know exactly where he's going with this. Lays his hand against the Bull's dick, fingertips light on his skin, palm pressing down with the blanket between. "I merely put it to you that we really must stop meeting like this. But since we find ourselves here again, you might have the decency to kiss me."

And oh, yeah, he can do that. Does, dragging Dorian down, coming up onto his elbow to meet him halfway.

Dorian kisses, as he always does, fiercely. Like he can't get enough of kissing, or like he knows exactly how damn good at it he is and wants to show off.

Either way, the Bull wins: gets to do this, wrap his arms around Dorian and sink into the swelling heat of it, feel Dorian getting hard against his stomach even through his clothes. Gets to mouth at the corner of Dorian's jaw, stubble scraping against his lips. To feel Dorian's teeth harsh on his bottom lip, and his tongue gentle to follow.

Dorian is loud in this too, moans into the Bull's mouth, gasps at the Bull's nails against his back. Laughs, murmurs fragments, Bull, Bull—come now, is that all—you do like this, don't you—

This last with a pointed shift of his body, the head of the Bull's cock pressing up against his ass.

"Shit," the Bull says, head falling back. The breath he heaves shudders in his throat. "Want me to fuck you? 'Cause let me tell you, I _really_ don't mind."

"Well," Dorian says, with laughter crinkling the corners of his eyes, "I suppose you might as well. Since we're here."

"You should keep talking," the Bull says. "Get your clothes off. You're so fucking hot. Dorian—"

"Oh," Dorian says, and there's this fleeting little moment when the Bull says his name, some little catch as Dorian swallows, a faltering of his hands on the fastenings of his clothes. It means something, if he only knew what. "Well. I do appreciate the sound of my own voice. I suppose I can manage. But I expect you to fuck me until I can't any more."

The Bull, laughing and curiously off-balance, rolls them over; spreads Dorian out beneath him, takes all of him in properly for the first time.

Splays his hand against Dorian's stomach, just to make Dorian gasp at the size of it, like he always does, like he forgets—makes the Bull smaller in his mind where most people make him bigger. What does that mean?

Maybe it doesn't mean that at all. Maybe it just means he's really into the Bull's size, into it enough to be shocked every time. Nothing else.

Wouldn't be the first.

" _Maker_ ," Dorian says. "Ludicrous—you're ludicrous." Laughter, and at least he sounds as unsteady as the Bull feels. "I could have been fucked three times by now in Minrathous."

"You want that?" the Iron Bull asks.

"Oh, no," Dorian says. Spreads his legs so readily for the Bull, gasps at the first press of the Bull's fingers against his ass. "Quality over quantity, if one must choose. I merely observe—oh—oh—"

"You think I'm good at this," the Bull says, smug, and pushes one finger very, very slowly into Dorian.

"I think you have promise," Dorian says; laughs again, although it becomes a startled cry of pleasure as the Bull finds that sweet spot inside him. "Definite potential—"

The Bull kisses him, arm around his shoulders to pull him up, curling his body forward. All in a rush.

Dorian pants against his lips.

"I think," he manages, "I could still show you a trick or two."

"Oh?" the Bull asks. "You gonna? Telling me you're planning on meeting like this a few more times after all?"

"I could be persuaded," Dorian says. "I may—perhaps—find myself fond—"

"Fuck," the Bull says. "Fuck— _Dorian_ —"

"I'll never admit it," Dorian says. Smiles, a secret, just for the Bull.

It's something. It's something, and he'll take it.

"I'd tell everyone," the Bull says. "You're incredible. Should be shown off. You want to ride me?"

"Are you trying to say you'd like that?" Dorian murmurs. Reaches up for the Bull's face, touches his thumb to the Bull's lips. "Really, Bull. Don't you think one of us ought to say what we mean? You're far more suited to it than me. Stop being so coy."

What the Bull thinks is: shit, I'm way too into you.

What he says is: "Sure. I want you to ride me. Goes with the name."

"I'm quite nearly as pained by your sense of humour as I am by your clothing," Dorian says, but he's such a picture, all sweaty, hard, his hair a mess. Not easy to find much heat, even if you're as talented at talking shit as Dorian is.

When they've rearranged themselves, pillows for the Bull's back, blankets tossed aside—when the Bull finally helps Dorian sink slowly down onto his cock—they're both bordering on shaking.

"I don't," Dorian says, shudders, "I can't—oh, I'll say something terrible if I keep talking. Bull, please—"

"Something terrible, huh," the Bull says. Clutches at Dorian's hips. Thrusts up, a shallow slow movement.

Dorian moans.

"Yes," Dorian says. "Oh, you're so good—you're so good—"

"Yeah, that's pretty terrible," the Bull says, and reaches up to touch Dorian's lips when Dorian slouches forward, hands on the Bull's stomach.

"Isn't it," Dorian says. "Such a degenerate—I can't stop thinking about you fucking me, I think about it sometimes in the library when I'm trying—trying to work—"

And I think about you when I'm propping up casks in the tavern.

Just like this.

"You've ruined me," Dorian says. Smiles a desperate little smile. "I had better try to ruin you too, hadn't I?"

But of course he already has.

 

 

And afterwards, Dorian is quiet again. Like he doesn't really know what he wants to do, go or stay. Or like he doesn't want to break the strange fragile peace they find themselves enveloped in by trying to make a decision at all.

One of us should say what we mean, was it?

So the Iron Bull says, "How about you stay? I'd like it."

"Hm. At least you're warm," Dorian says, and stretches himself up to steal a kiss which turns altogether too tender for safety. "Yes. I'll stay."


End file.
